


you cut through all the noise

by gazeboarcade



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Richie Tozier, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Compulsion, Eddie Kaspbrak Has OCD, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie Kaspbrak-centric, Eddie is in therapy, Eddie learns to rely on healthy coping skills, Eventual Fluff, He's getting better but he gets by with a little help, Health Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Hypochondria, Hypochondriac Eddie Kaspbrak, I have more in common with Eddie than I originally realized, M/M, Mentally ill writer for the record, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Tries, Soft Richie Tozier, accidentally lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazeboarcade/pseuds/gazeboarcade
Summary: " Eddie looked in the mirror. Pointing at himself sternly, albeit with a shaky hand, he said, 'You do not have a parasite. That is a cognitive distortion, it’s magical thinking, and it’s not true.' ”Eddie Kaspbrak is having a bad day. A really terrible day, actually. Can he turn his Friday around for the better, or is it doomed?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Saké and Sweat

**Author's Note:**

> Eddie lived bc I said so and I’m the writer soooo... eat my shorts. Also, warning for thought spirals, OCD thinking patterns (hypochondria), and anxiety. All is resolved in the end, but this chapter is not the end. Sometimes Eddie is not alright and needs a little support, feel me? Also, it’s shippy, but Richie isn't a miracle cure. He just knows how to help.

The job of a risk analyst is not exactly the most fun-sounding gig, but Eddie was in his element. He was able to use logic and statistics and interpret what could, should, and would happen. And he was good at it. Plus, it paid pretty well. Work lunches were a common part of it, and Eddie loved the performance of it all. Fast talking with clients about brass tacks and guiding them in the right direction made him feel useful and when he was right- and he usually was- he felt satisfaction and pride. To his clients, he was smart. An asset. 

A lot of people dreaded work lunches, but not Eddie. It usually meant a successful afternoon and some classy food, like today. He was eating sushi and doing saké shots with a high profile CEO, COO, CFO, and a couple other executives of a well known chain book store with over 400 stores on the East Coast alone. He was guiding then through the probability that their plan for the next quarter would pan out in their favor. It had gone great, he delivered his planned speech about the pros and cons, and they were well into the “celebration” stage. 

So, why was he so uncomfortable? Eddie was forcing a smile and working to stay involved in the conversation while trying to avoid the age-old bubbly feeling of disgust in his stomach. Two of the men in the C-suite positions were sitting to his either side, and they were chewing with their mouths open. It was gross. But, Eddie was bound by a social contract where he needed to be cool, funny, useful, and in his place. Translation: he couldn't say anything about it. Making a point about how disgusting he thought the men were being wasn’t going to fly. 

Well, he didn’t think they were disgusting, not really. But they were reminding him why he hated eating. Chewing up food, swallowing it… Eddie found the whole process upsetting if he thought about it for too long. The mildly grossed-out feelings opened the door for other negative thoughts to creep in. Sushi could make people really sick. There was a threat of food poisoning, then there was the mercury levels… and one of Eddie’s least favorite things to think about: parasites. 

He could feel his smile slipping but forced out a laugh at the CFO’s dumb joke. Then, another round of saké shots. He kept half a mouthful in his mouth, swishing it around. Eddie tried to convince himself he was getting the grossness out of his mouth and that the rice wine would neutralize the threat. Sometimes, he could trick himself like this and get over whatever was causing him to spin out. 

But for whatever reason, when he swallowed, instead of his mind telling him he was safe, it just made the point that the threat was now on its way to his stomach... And it was a compelling threat. He felt his stomach begin to turn, and it started to sound more like a promise. Parasites can prosper and thrive in the gut, especially seafood parasites. 

Seafood parasites… Eddie racked his brain. Tapeworms and roundworms were the most common. Anisakid roundworms, they come in ocean fish and when ingested cause anisakiasis. Anisakiasis causes all kinds of horrible things: liver problems then jaundice, irritability, tingling skin, increased heart rate, nausea… 

Eddie had spent enough time in his youth listening to his mom tell him all the ways he was making himself sick and then later on, when cell phones became a thing in his life, he had spent many a night up for hours scrolling the internet and gaining an approximate knowledge of a plethora of ailments. Even so, he was in therapy now, so he tried to reign himself in. His therapist, a nice older woman, had been trying to teach him how to apply his work skills to his health scares. Think logically. 

Okay, he thought, let’s take in the symptoms objectively and honestly. Was he jaundicing? He glanced at his white-knucked fist under the table, and his skin tone looked normal. But he knew he was spinning out bad when his mind retorted that he would soon be jaundicing. Nausea was a symptom, and his stomach was doing flips. He bounced his leg a mile a minute under the table, the rest of him frozen in fear. His heart was pounding. Was this just the beginning of anisakiasis? Stupid sushi, stupid sushi, stupid sush--

“Mr. Kaspbrak!” One of the men pierced through his haze of building terror. His eyes darted upward. Shit. “Are you alright?” The man laughed, good spirits still present at the table as he slightly slurred his words, saké hitting him hard. Eddie had definitely drawn some unwanted attention. Okay, so damage control. He beamed. 

“Fine, sorry! Excuse me for a moment, gentleman.” Eddie stood up at a forced normal pace, but his chair still dragged along the floor. He made a beeline toward the restroom, awkwardly smiling and waving to a concerned looking waitress as he speed walked there. Shoving the door open with his elbow, he let his mask slip. He was nearly panting, as he walked up to the sinks. He braced himself on the counter, trying not to think about how many germs were using that as a chance to climb onto his hands. 

Eddie inspected himself in the mirror. His shoulders were quickly rising and falling with his panicked breathing. His forehead and upper lip were dotting with sweat. Eddie hated sweating, it was wet and it was gross. He pushed off the counter, trying to remind himself that sweat was actually partially purifying, as he dug his handkerchief out of his suit pocket. With the fine silk, he dabbed at the moisture. 

“C’mon, Kaspbrak, get it together,” He tried to assert, but he couldn’t ignore the shake in his voice. “They’re all going to think you’re barfing in here,” he mumbled. With shaky hands, he folded the handkerchief, making a point to be as precise as possible with it. The movements were soothing. He still felt sweaty. 

Eddie looked back in the mirror. Pointing at himself sternly, he said, “You do not have a parasite. That is a cognitive distortion, it’s magical thinking, and it’s not true.” He sighed, turning on the sink. “It’s _not_ true,” He said again, sounding a bit more sure this time, washing his hands had always been a comfort, as cliche as it sounds. Eddie still felt pretty sweaty, but he was able to bargain with himself on that one. This meeting was his last thing he had to worry about today, and he could go home early after and shower when he got there. That didn’t calm him down, but it was the best he was going to do. He forced a smile in the mirror and tried to feel excited he would be home by 4 on a Friday before pushing back out to wrap up the meeting with the book shop executives. 

*******

Mercifully, he was able to leave in about 20 minutes. He was able to fumble his way to an imitation of normalcy for the duration of it without incident. He tumbled into the driver's seat of his black Mercedes Benz. The walk to the parking garage had temporarily cleared his head, the crisp fall air making it easier to breathe. He started the car, sliding his phone out of his pocket to queue up his audiobook to listen to as he drove home. He smiled lightly when he saw an unread text from Richie. 

They had been living together for months now, since round two back in Derry. Richie had been there for every step of his long recovery, dealing with a couple months of Eddie bitching in the hospital, telling him that no, for the seven hundredth time, he does not have an infection, helping him dodge his ex-wife while the divorce was still fresh, and holding his hand through stitches being taken out. Their relationship felt inevitable, at that point. Decades of little moments had led them to where they were, and for once Eddie didn’t feel dread over something he couldn’t control entirely. Richie was loud and a bit more messy than he would like, but Eddie couldn’t ask for anyone different. Richie was a focal point through it all. 

Eddie opened the text, snorting when he read it. 

_**“Hey, Eds. Try not to gouge ur eyes out with chopsticks from boredom @ your meeting today! I should be recording here until 5, 6 @ the latest, then it’s just you & me tonight 👀😈😻.”**_ Richie had just started incorporating emojis into his texts recently, and they were usually some degree of cursed. 

_**“Yikes lol those emojis are damn near threatening. Anywayz, knock em dead babe, and I’ll c u tonight 💖”**_ He added. Eddie smiled. Richie always typed in a weird combination of full words and abbreviations and it was usually a weird combo. Even after a few months of living together, the heart emoji still made Eddie’s own heart flutter. 

_**“Kicked ass this afternoon!”**_ He shot back. _**“Early Friday for the both of us! Nice! See you later, Rich. ♥️”**_

Eddie set up his audiobook and pulled out of the parking garage and began the tedious drive home through the city during the start of rush hour. As his audiobook droned on, some dragging tale about the Irish revolution, Eddie tried to let it comfort him. Usually boring nonfiction helped him calm down, but as the third jackass cab driver nosed his way into his lane and made him miss a light, he was beginning to get agitated. “God damn it!” He yelled, to no one in particular. Immediately after, he felt silly for it. Still, there would be no need to yell if people could learn how to drive.

Richie had tried to talk him out of driving in the city, as he knew how it made Eddie more angry than it was worth, to no avail. Eddie despised public transportation, so the train and taxis were off the table. They were filthy and disgusting. Roaches, bed bugs, lice… Eddie shivered, trying to shake off the phantom feeling of bugs in his hair. Wait, no, don’t think of lice it’s too similar to--

Parasites. 

He sighed heavily. Therapy had helped him clock irrational thought spirals like these, but he wasn’t exactly in the running to be on the cover of OCD Success Story Magazine, if such a thing existed. Not yet, anyway. Besides, recognizing a car crash didn't make it any less of a car crash. Rapidly, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as a dull but persistent sense of dread made its way through him. He pursed his lips, trying to focus on the road ahead. 

A glance in his rear view mirror brought his attention to some sweat forming on his forehead. His breath quickened. Was sweating a sign of Anisakiasis? He couldn’t remember. His fingertips itched for his phone. All it would take was a quick google search and checking Wikipedia… Eddie shook his head and reminded himself he was driving and doing such a thing was not only indulging paranoia, but incredibly reckless to do while driving. As set as he was money wise, he wasn’t looking to wreck his Mercedes or wind up back in a hospital. 

Sweating could be a symptom of a lot of things. Anxiety, for one. Or a fever, which was a symptom of plenty of horrible conditions. With a shaky hand, Eddie reached up and gently placed the back of his hand on his slightly damp forehead. It was warm, but was it fever-warm? He wasn’t sure. It could be. His stomach began to twist again. He tried to focus on his audiobook, which was talking about the implications of being in the IRA on the safety of the average irishman. It was helping, but it wasn’t a cure. 

*******

Eddie pulled into the parking garage below his building around 4:15, pulling into his usual spot. He grabbed his office bag and hopped out of the car. He slung it over his shoulder and swiftly made his way in the building. He waved to the doorman, a nice older man. When he got in the elevator, he asked for the top floor. Doing so always made him feel like such a douche, but today he sounded almost pained, if anything. Eddie fidgeted with the strap of his bag as the elevator began to move up. 

He wasn’t sure about living on the top floor, as surely it was a fire hazard. But Richie convinced him over dinner, picnic style on the floor of the empty penthouse floor by candle light. Not only was the gesture beautiful-- Richie had even brought a couple roses, the sap-- but the skyline was breathtaking. All the glittering city lights were more than enough to dazzle the both of them. They may be much more well off now, but they both came from broke backgrounds, and this was the height of luxury. 

Still not able to shake off the remains of his jittery anxiety, Eddie couldn’t help but self-indulge in a brief fantasy of how bad things would be if there was some horrible fire. He took his shoes off at the door. The sound of his leather messenger bad thumping on the table shocked him out of it. He loosened his tie with one hand, trying to take some deep breaths. 

This is home. Home is safe. 

_I do not have a parasite._ He pulled a glass out of the cabinet, filling it with some icy water from the fridge. He took small sips, trying to ignore the ripples on the surface, which betrayed the shake in his hand. Eddie started off toward the bathroom so he could finally take a shower to wash the horrible afternoon away.


	2. Showers and Bleach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie tries to relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter are pretty much all the same as the last (thought spirals, OCD thinking patterns (hypochondria), and anxiety). Bonus for depictions of compulsive behaviors, past and present. Also, I know some people have bug phobias, so warning that there is a bug briefly mentioned here, but it is brutally murdered shortly after. Just take care of yourselves. I know y'all are jonesing for the shippy bits. We're getting there!

Eddie loved showering. He loved the prickly sting of warm water on his shoulders after a long day. The biting warmth unstitched the tension he carried in his shoulders. The shower head in Richie and Eddie’s place had seven glorious settings, and Eddie preferred the second strongest setting. Richie would tease him for it. He tended to prefer bubble baths, not being power washed down. Eddie hated baths. Germ soup, he called them. 

When he walked into the bathroom, sighing with relief when he crossed the threshold. The bathroom in this place was fantastic and huge. There was a large shower in one corner and a tub with jets in the other. A glossy mirror with a gilded frame hung above the sink. Eddie opted not to look at himself, he had seen quite enough of his own sweaty face for today. He pulled off his tie and neatly rolled it, placing it on the counter next to the sink. He shrugged out of his jacket and folded it in half, doing the same with the rest of his clothes. Everything was dirty and due for a wash or a dry cleaning, but he loved folding clothes. The motions were repetitive and relaxing. 

He took his phone out of his suit pocket, checking his texts once more. Richie had answered. _**“Atta boy, eddie-spaghetti!! I should b here for thenext hour and a half, then they should turn me loose. For now, it’s all fucking dance monkey, dance 💃🏻.”**_ Eddie knew Richie loved comedy, but hated having to repeat things over and over for recording and felt much better about his work when it was off the cuff. But at least he was able to write his own bits now, which was a step in the right direction as far as creative freedom, Eddie guessed. 

_**“It wasn’t perfect, but things are getting better now, I think. About to take an hour long shower lmao.”**_ He hit send and watched the screen. Read receipts came through almost immediately. He must be taking a break. Typing…

_**“That bad?”**_

Eddie frowned. He didn’t want to throw off Richie’s rhythm while he was trying to perform. Richie refused to admit it publicly, but Eddie knew how much he wasn’t the only worrier in this relationship. He fired off a quick text, shrugging Richie off. Before slipping out of his boxers, he turned to the shower and switched it on. He took another careful sip of his drink while he waited for the water to heat up. Eddie’s stomach was still in knots. 

Eddie glanced around the floor of the shower for any shmutz and when he saw nothing, he determined it was safe. He placed his glass on the counter and removed his boxers, placing them with the rest of the clothes before stepping into the shower. With his back to the water, he let the warmth do its work. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and let the water wash the gel from his hair. His scalp tingled from the heat, but he didn’t mind. 

Warm water washed away germs. 

_Unless the germs are parasites, and they’re already inside you._

Shut up. 

Shut up.

Everything is fine. 

Eddie tried to run himself through his breathing exercises he learned in therapy. Slowly in through the nose. Hold it for a beat. Out through the mouth. Soon, the noise in his brain began to slow down and he focused on the sounds of his own breathing and the running water. He turned, letting the water blast his chest. Head still lolled back, he opened his eyes. Even watching the waterfall was relaxing. He stood there for about ten minutes, just soaking it in. 

Eddie slowly opened his eyes, now that the world felt manageable. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw one of his least favorite living creatures on the planet. A silver fish. He gasped, nearly launching himself out of the shower. He grabbed the showerhead and blasted the cursed little bug down the drain. “Jesus Christ! Is nothing sacred?” He shut off the shower. It was probably because of the hot showers that the pests appeared in the first place. 

Eddie grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself, stomping to the bedroom. There was no way he was getting back in that shower, not as long as he could remember the gross little legs and the way that thing scampered. “Didn’t even get to use soap,” He grumbled. Eddie yanked his top drawer open, tugging on some fresh boxers. He moved to his closet where he kept his cleaning clothes, an old navy blue pair of sweats covered in bleach splatters and a dingy white band tee shirt. 

If deep breaths weren’t going to work, if a shower wasn’t an option, he was going to resort to his most efficient coping mechanism: cleaning. After he got dressed he stomped into the bathroom again, opening the cabinet under the sink. He took out a spray bottle of bleach, windex, and a soap scum buster along with a sponge and a roll of paper towels. His hands were shaking when he clumsily dropped the bottles on the counter. Ducking back down, he grabbed his yellow rubber gloves and pulled them on. 

Things were going to be fine. He was going to clean, he was going to fix it all. He used his towel from earlier to wipe the steam off the mirror, hitting it with windex immediately after. Eddie began wiping it down in small circles until all the windex was on, and he couldn’t spot a single flaw. This cycle continued as he cleaned the sink out, dumped some blue cleaner in the toilet to soak, emptying the trash, until finally all that remained was the shower. 

Eddie shuddered as he inched toward it. He gave it a good once over before stepping close enough to spray it down. He let the bleach soak into the white tile and shook the white cleaning powder along the floor. By then, the smell was getting pretty noxious. So, he took a break to open the and gulp down some fresh air in the hall before he ducked back in. 

He got down on his hands and knees and began to scrub the tile with a vengeance. The sound of the powder made a satisfying _koosh-koosh_ sound as Eddie violently scrubbed it. His brain began to slow down and, despite the dizzying stench of bleach, breathing came easier. After twenty minutes of dedicated scrubbing, he felt like he had done all he could to the floor of the shower. Eddie stood up and dragged his forearm across his forehead. Great, sweating again. He huffed, turning on the shower head and spraying the floor, washing the suds down the drain. Eddie rinsed his sponge under the faucet and looked toward the shower walls. They needed attention, too. 

He swayed on his feet, bleach hitting him hard but not knocking him out. He scrubbed away at nothing. Their place was typically spotless, despite normal signs of people living there, like one of Richie’s cozy hoodies draped haphazardly over the back of a chair. In therapy, he had been learning to let a cleaning lady- which he could afford- take control of the housekeeping. It wasn’t a perfect arrangement yet, by far. 

As it stood, he got to clean one week and a nice Puerto Rican woman Richie met at an underground comedy club in Greenwich cleaned the next. Eddie heavily vetted her, and she was good at her job. Still, Eddie didn’t want to leave it all to her. 

At least not yet. He would like to have the cleaning be something he didn’t have to worry about anymore, but it was a vice he had grown up on. Bleaching the bathroom, handwashing dishes in spite of owning a dishwasher, wiping down counters… To other people, these were chores. But to Eddie, they were a retreat from the panic of everything else. He had spent countless nights back in Derry scrubbing a sink-full of dishes for twice the time it normally would under the lonely yellow light. Under that light, Eddie could think. 

He could reign in his thoughts which were all over the place, usually because of something his mother had said. Eddie could remember a period of time, for about a year and a half, where she convinced him he was showing signs of cystic fibrosis. He would stand in their tiny kitchen washing and rewashing whatever dishes they had from dinner until his hands were aching. He would have to deal with his mom scolding him for the dry, cracking skin the next morning. 

It was easier to mumble out a, “Sorry, Mommy,” than it was to explain it was the only way he could stop thinking about how he would likely die in his twenties if he really had cystic fibrosis. The only way he could stop checking for tension in his breaths or over analyzing every sneeze and caught. The only way he could stop being so terrified. His therapist said his neatness was rooted in control issues, and he believed her. 

He was getting better! He was! But the longer he stood there scrubbing the bathroom walls, the longer he was indulging a cognitive distortion. The hard thing about anxiety is that it’s really hard to recognize when you’re doing that, until you're frantically scrubbing the walls and trying not to cry and your boyfriend gets home. 

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have no idea how happy I was to close the tab I had open with s*lverfish in it. I hate those little freaks. For the record, I usually have a catch and release policy with them, but I have been known to just wash em down the drain if they approach me in the shower. Also, I promise Richie actually APPEARS in chapter 3. 
> 
> You can find me either on [tumblr](https://kelpcore.tumblr.com) or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/kelpcore/)! Shout out to my friend Tater for reading this @ the last minute for quality assurance lmao. You can find her on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/tater.titan/?hl=en)!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are heavily appreciated.


	3. Roses and Brokeback Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie gets home, finally.

Richie hated recording days. They were slow and everything felt forced. He loved the instant gratification of public crowds, because it was easiest to tell if a joke was landing or not. He knew the set he was recording worked- it did on tour anyway- but it wasn’t the same. It also didn’t help that he could barely keep his mind on the material, opting to screw with everything in the recording booth while he walked around clutching the mic and spewing out jokes. At one point, he had his manager so ticked he was ordered to go on a lunch break just to stop making everyone dizzy by looping around the recording booth. 

The day had finally come to an end, and he had successfully recorded the last of that set. It was a relief to be done for a while. The last half hour found him repeatedly checking his phone whenever he got the chance, looking for another text from Eddie. He had the feeling something was up, but he couldn’t tell what. Meetings sometimes left Eddie tense, but he said this one was aces… until it wasn’t? 

Maybe something else upset him? Richie chewed on his lip as he pushed the down button of the elevator, eager to get home. He caught a cab and made a few stops on the way back. 

First, to hit a Starbucks to pick up drinks for himself and Eddie. He ordered a cold brew, black, with a splash of cream. Caffeine always managed to help him make sense of his thoughts after a day burnt him out and thinking felt like spinning way too many plates at once. He ordered Eddie one of those fancy Java Chip drinks, his “embarrassing” favorite, which Richie just thought was adorable. He made a second stop at a small corner stand to pay an old man for a dozen roses. He knew it was kind of douchey to ask a driver to make a bunch of stops, so even though it was only about a 15 minute drive, he tipped enough to be asked if it was an accident. 

Hopefully, if Eddie was in a bad mood about something, flowers, what is essentially a milkshake, and a promised night in should lift his spirits. Richie hoped. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie on the way up to their place, bouncing his leg. The roses smelled amazing, but holding them in the crook of his arm and a drink in each hand was...a bit much. Mercifully, the elevator doors slid open. 

Richie hesitated at the entrance, fumbling with the cups before eventually putting one down on the floor to take out his keys and open the door. Sighing and holding it open with his hip, he bent down to pick up the other drink before stepping in and letting the door swing shut behind him. Richie walked in a few paces and placed the cups on the island in their kitchen, which was close to the front door. 

“Eddie?” He called out. 

No answer.

He could hear running water from the hallway and momentarily. He tried not to think about Stan. Placing the roses down, he kicked his shoes toward the door and turned down the hall. “Ed-” The smell of bleach assaulted his nose. 5:30 p.m. on a Friday was not a normal cleaning time. His stomach tightened. He crept down the hall for a few steps before pausing by the bathroom door frame to collect himself. 

C’mon, what’s the worst reality here? He thought to himself. It’s not Eddie in there, it’s a murderer cleaning washing Eddie’s blood off his hands. Richie’s stomach began to twinge with familiar nausea. He shook his head. That seemed pretty unlikely. With a deep breath, he walked into the door frame, gently pushing the door open. Eddie was standing in the tub in his cleaning gear, frantically scrubbing the porcelain white walls. His breaths were quick and erratic. Okay, this wasn’t good either, but Richie knew how to help. 

“Eds?” He tried again, softly. Eddie gasped sharply, looking over his shoulder at Richie, sponge in hand poised to toss at him. 

“Jesus, _fuck_ , Rich, you scared the shit out of me.” He turned back to the bathroom wall, working away at the cleaner, raking the sponge over the grout between the tile. 

“Any particular reason you’ve turned treating the tile like it personally fucked your mom?” 

Eddie shrugged, but his breathing was still erratic. Jokes weren’t going to work, this was a category 4 situation. Richie leaned on the wall opposite to the shower. “Feel like talking?” 

“No.” Eddie grumbled, but his hand holding the sponge stuttered for a moment. 

Richie watched him scrub for a few beats, remembering what skills he’d picked up on diffusing anxiety. He was doing brief stints in therapy too, on and off, ever since he last set foot in Derry. “Okay… you seem upset.”

Another shrug. 

“Did something happen at work?” He tried. 

“Sushi and saké.” Richie nodded, even though Eddie couldn’t see. Sushi was one of the foods it took Eddie a long time to feel okay about eating, but he usually was just that with it by now: okay. It wasn’t his favorite, but it didn’t usually send him spiralling these days. 

“Sushi?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Did something else happen before that?” Richie tried to get to the roots. He thought of these kinds of things as flow charts. It was clumsy, and because he was typically more of a sarcastic asshole, it seemed artificial to a lot of people. Doing so was the only way he could make sense of emotionally complex situations, and it made him feel just a bit stunted. But it usually worked. 

“Kind of. Sushi really started it.” Eddie’s scrubbing was slowing down. Richie watched, patiently. 

“But something else happened after?” The scrubbing intensified again.

“Yes, Richie, something fucking happened after,” Eddie spit. “Sorry,” He added immediately after, apologetic. He wasn’t upset with Richie. He was mad that his night had turned into feverish scrubbing and bleach and, whatsmore, he was being shitty to Richie about it. 

“I know. Wanna tell me what?” 

Eddie whirled around. “A fucking silverfish, Richie.” He shivered at the word silverfish, gagging. “In the shower!”

"Oh, fuck no! I hate those little freaks. Go crawl back in the primordial soup!”

A flash of a smile flickered across Eddie’s lips, there and gone. “Yeah, exactly. And I was standing there, buck naked, finally convincing myself I’m not going to be dead from anisakiasis by Monday, and there it was. Its freaky little body, just hanging out on the wall! Fucking disgusting!”

“Yeah, ew. Did you squash the little voyeuristic creep?”

Eddie shook his head. “No. Washed it down the drain instead.” 

Richie laughed under his breath. “Fair enough. So, you’re cleaning the bathroom to make sure there’s no more silverfish?”

Just like that, Eddie was talking a mile a minute, swinging his soapy sponge around. Cleaning clothes was a good move, because he was sending droplets of bleach left and right. Richie dodged a particularly large droplet.“Cleaning the whole damn house. I don’t know for sure, but I bet it’s like roaches and with roaches, if you see one they say there’s usually five more and if there’s five more to every one that’s already at least six, likely way more, just living among us undetected, crawling in our food, on our clothes--” 

“Okay, okay-” Richie cut him off, stepping forward. Eddie was a few inches taller than he normally was, standing in the shower still. Richie planted his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “I do not think it is reasonable that you need to clean the whole house right now, baby.” Eddie bristled for a moment. “Hear me out! You cleaned just two days ago, and it’s set for another onceover until Sunday, right? That’s our schedule.” Eddie hesitated for a moment before nodding, sighing. 

Richie pushed his thumbs into Eddie’s tense shoulders, messaging them. “Plus, looks like you got a good bit done in here already.” 

“Yeah… did the mirror, floor of the shower, toilet is soaking, sprayed down the sink…” Eddie trailed off gesturing around. Richie hummed, nodding. 

“That’s what I thought. So, may I propose a compromise?” 

“Uh,” Eddie thought about objecting, but the way Richie’s big hands were working the tension out of his muscles was hard to argue with. “You may.” 

“Let’s both finish it up in here together, then take a better, fresher shower. Then I’ll make us something to eat and we can have a nice, peaceful night in.” Eddie looked like he was going to resist, so he kept talking. “Come on, think of it. You and I, fresh as daisies, cuddled on the couch looking so comfortable they will want to put us on the cover of some at home living mag for the gays.” 

Eddie scoffed. “Who’s ‘they’?” 

“I don’t know, _Brokeback Mountain_ superfans or something. Are you in?”

“Ahh, I’m not sure-”

Richie stepped closer and Eddie hesitated. He brought one hand off Eddie’s shoulder and cupped his cheek. “Is this rational, cleaning the whole house in a frenzy, because of one harmless bug?” He said quietly, gently. Richie was never one for long lingering eye contact, he was either moving too much to maintain it or just thought better when he wasn’t locking eyes with someone. But he was looking right into Eddie’s warm brown eyes, accented by a worry line between his brows. 

Eddie shook his head, letting out a long sigh. “Fine…”

“Fine?” Richie brushed his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone absentmindedly. 

“Yeah, fine, let’s be on the cover of _Brokeback Mountain_ magazine, or whatever.” Eddie chuckled. “But we’re cleaning in here first!” 

“Might as well finish the job!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all liked this one. I know not a lot happens here, but if I shared all I had planned for this chapter, it would be way too long when compared to the previous chapters, and I'm trying to keep this as symmetrical as possible! I will probably have another chapter for y'all tomorrow or Friday so, see ya then! The next chapter will include some good ol fluff, if all goes according to plan.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! <3


	4. PJs and Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Made myself UwU with the end of this chapter, fellas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings that I can think of for this chapter. There's some allusion to an nsfw act, but no follow through and it's mostly a joke so! Just proceed with caution if that's not your thing.

Richie dropped his hand back to Eddie’s shoulders and squeezed gently before letting go. “God, that was a ridiculously sad movie.”

“ _Brokeback Mountain?_ ” 

“Mhm. You know,” Richie started before turning to rummage under the sink for a spare pair of rubber gloves. “That was the first gay movie I had ever seen.” 

Eddie sighed, pointing out the right spot for an extra sponge and some gloves to Richie. “Me too.” 

The air between them was heavy for a few moments, while Richie got ready to help clean. It was one of those moments where apologizing would seem weird, since both people involved felt the sting of the same wound. When one of your first public exposures to people like you involves a narrative of painful secrecy and eventual death... it takes a while for something like that to fully reconcile. 

Instead, Eddie just rocked up on his toes for a moment to press a kiss on Richie’s jaw when he walked back to the shower. Richie smiled and bent over to pull off his socks. He stepped into the shower. “C’mon, let’s get it finished in here, I have surprises waiting for you out in the living room.” Richie began scrubbing the wall in small circles, the way he knew Eddie liked. 

“Surprises?” Eddie began washing the bleach away, too. He noticed Richie doing what he taught him. It was something he’d seen before, so it wasn’t surprising, per say, but it still made his chest fill up with a sticky sweet warmth and his throat choke just a bit. 

“Mhm,” He hummed. Eddie smiled. 

The two worked to finish wiping the walls down, which didn’t take too long with two sets of hands. They stepped out of the shower at the same time to rinse it. Eddie went to finish the sink and Richie reluctantly got to work on the toilet, because he knew Eddie hated it even more he did.

Despite the act of cleaning the toilet being kind of gross, Richie couldn’t help but smile when he heard Eddie humming under his breath. That was significantly better than hearing him heaving for breaths, shaking like a leaf. “Your Song,” by Elton John. Fucking _adorable_. Soon enough, Richie flushed the toilet and washed away the cleaner. He turned to Eddie, who was almost done on his own. 

Richie walked up behind him, looping his arms around Eddie’s waist. This was one of his favorite ways to hold his boyfriend. He was careful not to touch his clothes with the bleach covered gloves or sopping sponge. Eddie’s cheeks tinted pink in the mirror. He was blushing. “Richie, I just wanted to say I’m sorry-”

“Stop-”

“No, I’m sorry. You had a tough day and you had to come back and deal with me-”

“Eds! Stop.” Richie cut Eddie off with a bit more effort. He looked in the mirror to meet Eddie’s eyes. “‘Deal with me’? What kind of talk is that?” 

Eddie shrugged. He knew it wasn’t fair to himself to feel guilty about it all, but it was hard not to feel a bit embarrassed. Everyone knew he was an anxious person and may have witnessed a panic attack or two, but a full blown breakdown- especially one involving a compulsion- was not that common. 

“Stigma is a hell of a thing, I know, but I don’t have to deal with you,” Richie said quietly. “I’m not stuck with you, okay?” Eddie nodded. Richie nuzzled his face into Eddie’s neck, breathing deep. He tilted his head against Richie’s and rinsed out the sink. 

“I know. It’s just hard sometimes.”

“I know.”

“Shower?” Richie offered, tousling Eddie’s damp hair. “But with the end goal of actually using soap without a little freak joining you?” Eddie cracked a smile. “Maybe...a big freak joining you?” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

Eddie laughed. “You?” 

“Yeah? Maybe?” 

“Yes, please.” 

***

They showered together, quietly, just content to be in each other’s company for something so intimate. They were never the type to completely wash each other, but they did bits and pieces. Eddie liked to be in charge of cleaning his own hair and body, but let Richie scrub his shoulders. Richie preferred to wash his own body, but loved when Eddie would wash his hair. The pressure and gentle tug made his brain happy-hum. 

“You know I didn’t help you clean to, uh, reinforce your fear, right?” Richie tried while Eddie rinsed his hair. 

He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t.” Eddie knew Richie wasn’t trying to be blunt about it, so he felt guilty for rolling his eyes. His own cavalier response was a defense mechanism, according to his therapist. Richie had his eyes closed while Eddie washed the green apple scented soap out of his dark hair. “You made me feel safe and secure, Rich,” Eddie affirmed while he finished rinsing out the bubbles and ran his hands through Richie’s hair once more for good measure before letting go. 

Richie stood up straight again and smirked down at Eddie. “Sounds pretty gay, Eddie.” 

“For fuck’s sake.”

Richie clumsily put his hand on Eddie’s face. “Are you crying because you’re so overwhelmed with your love for me? I can’t see your face.” Eddie coughed out a laugh. 

“It’s water from the shower, you dick.”

Richie chuckled. “Alright, alright, let’s get out of this shower, I’m not trying to become a goddamn prune.” He stepped right out of the shower, splashing water left and right. Eddie sighed and shut off the water. He almost always had to towel down the floor a bit after Richie got out. 

The two dried off and walked back to the bedroom to change into some comfortable clothes. Eddie put on some gym shorts and socks which matched a hoodie he had long since stolen from Richie. Richie put on his glasses, sweats, worn old _Wham!_ shirt, and mismatched socks. He was clumsy, stumbling around while he got dressed, showing Eddie how tired he actually was. He had always been on the klutzy side, but it got worse after a long day. 

They walked back down toward the living room. At the end of the hall, Richie turned back to Eddie. “Cover your eyes!” 

“What? Why?”

“Surprise, remember?” 

Eddie chuckled and covered his eyes with his hands. Richie half-jogged in to the kitchen. Carefully, because he wasn’t sure if there were thorns or not, he pulled one rose loose. When he saw there was none, he placed the stem between his teeth, unable to resist the corniness of it. With the rest of the bouquet in the crook of his arm, he grabbed up the drinks. The eyes had only just started to melt, so it wasn’t too bad. He walked back over in front of Eddie. 

“Op’n yer eyeth,” He said, lisping around the stem. When Eddie uncovered his eyes, he slapped his hands over his mouth when he saw the display Richie was putting on. He giggled, straight up giggled, and Richie’s heart turned to goo in his chest. It was the cutest shit in the world. He grinned around the rose. 

Eddie stepped forward, taking his drink with one hand and gently taking the rose from Richie’s mouth. He brought it to his nose, smelling it gently. He loved the gentle sweetness of the smell of a rose. Eddie beamed at Richie. “Coffee _and_ flowers? You trying to get lucky, Tozier?”

Richie laughed. “Depends...Is it working?” 

“We’ll see,” Eddie said, with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He sipped his drink, relishing the chocolatey sweetness. Moving a coaster over to the edge of the table, he placed the drink on it, turning his attention to the rest of the roses. He made a move to grab them from Richie, who leaned away for a moment before taking a long, dramatic, and just-this-side-of-indecent sip of his own coffee, popping his lips when he released the straw. Eddie gasped quietly. 

“Why, Richie, you cad!” He said, feigning dainty offense, hand over his chest and everything. Richie smirked, handing over the rest of the roses. Eddie took them gently. “Let’s get these in some water…” He walked into the kitchen, pulling a mason jar from the cabinet and filling it with water from the fridge. 

“You know,” Richie started, taking another drag of his coffee. “I’m pretty sure they take tap just fine.”

“I know, but they’re special, I want them to last extra long and if this helps, then it helps.” Emphatically, Eddie placed the roses in the jar as delicately as Richie imagined someone could without dropping them on the floor. Richie smiled warmly, placing his coffee on the counter. 

He walked up behind Eddie, putting his chin on his shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist yet again. He swayed back and forth, rocking Eddie with him. “You in love with me or somethin’?” Eddie teased quietly. 

“Mmm, you know I am,” Richie hummed. 

“I love you too, Rich.” 

It was sappy, it was achingly domestic. 

And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is going to have to be the end of the line, folks. This was rlly fun and it was my first time writing for IT, so I got a taste of how I wanna write the characters. What did you guys think? Should I write some more for this fandom? LMK! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are heavily appreciated! 
> 
> If you would like to follow me elsewhere, you can find me on [Tumblr where I post misc. content](https://kelpcore.tumblr.com) and [Instagram where I post my art](https://www.instagram.com/kelpcore/)!

**Author's Note:**

> I experience anxiety a LOT like Eddie does here when it comes to hypochondria, but other stuff spins me out, too. Still, my experiences made this easier to write bc I have been there. 
> 
> You can find me either on [tumblr](https://kelpcore.tumblr.com) or  
> [intagram](https://www.instagram.com/kelpcore/)! 
> 
> Thank you to my friend for being my second set of eyes, you can follow her on her [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/con.voluted/?hl=en). 
> 
> I know this is a short chapter, but this would be a little too long for a one shot in full so I'm breaking it down into around four parts. Stay tuned for chapter 2 later this week! The title is a lyric from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XuMskr3hi48).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are heavily appreciated.


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